


Pseudonym

by Nyon After Dark (Of_Nyon)



Series: Pseudonym AU [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (some) characters use different pronouns, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Eventual Fluff, Exhibitionism, Kinda, M/M, Neopronouns, Out of Character, Poetry, Pole Dancing, Slow Burn, Tags TBA with new chapters, Voyeurism, sorta??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-06-27 12:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19790950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Nyon/pseuds/Nyon%20After%20Dark
Summary: Megatron had really taken a liking to writing, more than his fellow miners would’ve expected. They should’ve known, of course, with the things he liked to say about their life. Publishing his works could do him some good, especially with critiques and other perspectives, but giving his real name out could become dangerous.Orion has long since accepted the injustices of his golden society, but he knows it isn’t right for them to keep living the way they do. He picked up an unusual side gig, and found himself enjoying it. Letting the public know who he really is, just like a certain anonymous poet he’s become fond of, could lead to trouble if he isn’t careful.





	1. Not Quite the Café You’re Used to

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate summary: I just really wanted Orion to pole dance in front of Megatron. 
> 
> Un-beta’d, pls excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea one day of Orion pole dancing in front of Megatron and it never left me. SO I planned something out ;)
> 
> Idk if I’ll be able to keep writing this after a while 0”: I uhhh accidentally planned… too much? I hope I can finish it tho!!

“Impactor, I’ve _told_ you already. I don’t like coming to these places.”

“Aw, c’mon Megs! Lighten up a little! We’re just here to relax.”

“Yes, well, our definitions of relaxing are _very_ different.”

 _“I_ entertain _you_ with your poetry all the time. Let me _be_ entertained for once. And not just by you.”

Megatron rolled his optics, incapable of remembering how he’d befriended Impactor all those years ago. “You’re lucky I decided to come along and the _twins_ didn’t.”

Impactor shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I wasn’t even gonna _ask_ them. I can’t bring them to a place like this. They’d _never_ shut up about it.”

Megatron and Impactor strolled down the busy streets of Kaon, shoving their way through the gathered crowds. The city became lively at night, which was the only time either of them were free to hang out. The mines weren’t exactly very sociable places, especially when the ceilings collapsed regularly and their lives became endangered. 

Megatron had to admit, the night sky filled with the light of the stars and their two moons never got old. The air around them felt fresher, less claustrophobic, even within crowds like the ones they’d just pushed through. Even the _bots_ were more pleasant to argue with than their coworkers. 

“If I may,” Megatron piped up, catching Impactor’s attention. “Have we been to this place before?”

“What, you already _forgot_ about this place?” Impactor asked, feigned hurt plaster all over his face. Megatron snorted. 

“Well, if you must be reminded, what you do for fun _isn’t_ what _I_ do for fun.”

Impactor grumbled something under his breath and turned the corner into a less occupied street. Megatron followed right behind him.

 _“Yes,_ we’ve been here before. _Yes,_ I brought you here.” He stopped abruptly in front of a line, which Megatron hadn’t been paying attention to. He would’ve crashed into his friend had he not turned around to face Megatron. “And _yes,_ I’m tired of you forgetting all the places I take you!”

Megatron chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll give this place a try.”

Impactor squinted and reached a servo out. “Gimme your datapads.”

This time it was Megatron’s turn to feign shock. “What makes you think I carry _any_ of my datapads with me whenever I hang out with you?”

“C’mon! I know you! I don’t want you sitting in a corner writing some slag about how much you hate this place or whatever. I want you to _try_ to enjoy yourself here.”

Megatron slumped, and opened his chest cavity. “Let’s be clear here,” he said as he collected only the _empty_ datapads. “I’m doing this because I already agreed to entertain you. Whatever _that_ means.”

Impactor grabbed the datapads triumphantly, though none the wiser. “Listen, I just wanna watch your reactions to it all. I come to places like this _all the time_ with the others, but, as far as I know, you’ve never been here. And I say that because you don’t even _remember_ this place.” He gestured to the building at the end of the line they stood in. 

From this angle, Megatron couldn’t read the sign, and contemplated jumping into the street in order to read it. He cursed himself for not keeping a more vigilant optic out as they walked. He did admit, the streets looked familiar. He must have come here before, and with Impactor no doubt. He couldn’t place exactly what they’d done here, though. 

“Give me some sort of clue so I know what to prepare for, at least,” Megatron said, crossing his arms. He already felt annoyed. This line was taking its time moving, if it was moving _at all._

Impactor shook his head. “When we get closer to the doors, I’ll give you something. Until then, we wait.”

Megatron groaned. _“Fine._ By the way, why’s the line taking so long?”

“Oh! This place isn’t open yet.”

* * *

A couple fights had broken out while they waited. They’d been good distractions for Megatron without his empty datapads. He didn’t want to risk letting Impactor see his other ones in case this place turned out to be uninteresting and he didn’t have any distractions _inside_. 

It seemed that the doors were finally open once the streets got busier. It was probably safe to assume they didn’t want any more bots to leave because of the fights.

As the line picked up, Megatron had come up with a list of places this particular one could be. He knew Impactor liked to drink, so this could very well be a bar, or even a nightclub. Both were places Megatron liked to avoid unless he was with a friend. And that friend being Impactor. 

It was already late for Megatron’s schedule, but he thanked Primus he had the next day off. He knew Impactor liked to drink _a lot._

The line went by quick, and it wouldn’t be long before Megatron and Impactor were let inside. 

“So,” Megatron spoke up. “Will I get a clue now?”

“I’m sending you a ticket for this place,” Impactor responded. The transmission was instant as Megatron heard the gentle _beep_ of his comm go off. “Even though we’re going in together, this place likes to check tickets individually. Somethin’ about security.”

Megatron hummed, tuning him out just a tad as he opened the comm. The ticket was attached, and he decided to open it up now.

A faint hologram popped up from his arm and Megatron looked at it. The ticket was two-dimensional, and it had his basic information on the front. He turned it around and couldn’t miss the neon logo on the middle of the card…

Megatron wrinkled his nose.

“Are you _serious?”_ He asked, glaring daggers at the back of Impactor’s head. Impactor ignored him, already showing the guard his ticket, and beckoning Megatron to follow right behind him. Megatron sighed in frustration and stepped up to the guard. It was too late to say no.

As they walked through the doors, Megatron looked around. He _had_ been here before, but the place had clearly been upgraded. He used that word lightly.

This had previously been a regular bar, he remembered coming here with Impactor to cool down from various particularly stressful days at the mines. He could see just how much the bar itself had expanded. There were more tables to accommodate the increase of bots looking to drink, and the bar itself had more kinds of engex to choose from. The wall to the right had been torn down to make more space. There were new raised circular stages spread around, with poles right in the middle of them.

The line in front of them had taken to most of the bar, but some were already sitting around the stages, watching the shows.

Megatron wasn’t used to this. He didn’t really want to be here.

“I can’t believe you dragged me to this place,” Megatron finally said, following Impactor to the bar. Impactor gave a hearty laugh as he sat down on one of the stools.

“Live a little!” He said, leaning back to pull Megatron onto the seat next to him. “Just this once. After today, you _never_ have to come back.” He snickered. “At least not to this one.”

Megatron knew his friend would find ways to drag him across the city to places not dissimilar to this one. He figured he’d have to learn to enjoy himself if Impactor ever decided to drag Megatron out more often. And without his datapads. His empty ones. 

Impactor wasted no time in ordering drinks, grabbing something strong and downing it like it was nothing. Megatron had yet to ask how he could do that. Frankly, he didn’t really want to know. 

He sipped on his own drink, not exactly wanting to get as blackout drunk as Impactor did. He listened to the chatter around him, hoping _something_ would grab his attention.

“…New stools, new engex, new modeling. This place looks great!…”

“…These dancers, mech. They’re really something…”

“…Are you gonna go upstairs with one of the dancers? You should…”

“Alright, listen here _pal_ , you don’t get to disrespect us like that…”

“…Wonder if I’ll be able to see the little librarian today. He’s the _best_ performer here. My type, too…”

_A librarian?_

That caught Megatron’s attention. He hadn’t assumed these bots in particular _knew_ the dancers, but he probably should have guessed they at least recognized the performers, even as some sort of celebrities of their own sort. Or even just bots from the _neighborhood._ The bar had been remodeled recently, but the time it took for him and Impactor to finally pay it a visit had probably been long enough for regulars to start showing up.

So there was a _librarian._ A librarian _performer,_ by the looks of things. That intrigued Megatron more than anything. What was a librarian performing _here_ for? Why was a librarian performing _at all?_ Most librarians Megatron was familiar with lived in the upper districts, the _nicer_ cities like Iacon and Petrex. They didn’t _need_ the money, or even the fame. Though, this kind of fame was _very_ different from the non-taboo fame in the upper districts. 

“Megatron!”

The mech in question snapped out of his haze, and looked up at Impactor, a little disoriented. “Yes?”

Impactor huffed and took a gulp from his second drink. “You were staring off into the distance like you do every time you’re bored.”

“I wasn’t bored.”

Impactor snorted. “Sure you weren’t.” Megatron rolled his optics. 

“I’m serious. I was… thinking.”

That piqued Impactor’s interest, as demonstrated by the sloshing of his drink and ridiculous grin spreading across his face. “Oh? What were you thinking of?”

“Some mech mentioned a _librarian.”_

Impactor was taken aback, clearly not expecting that answer. “Wait, really? Like, as a performer? Not a patron?” Perhaps he wasn’t kept in the loop. 

_Good,_ Megatron thought. _I don’t like being left in the dark._

Megatron simply shrugged. “Looks like it, yeah. I wonder what he’s doing here _performing_ of all things.”

“Huh.” Impactor finished his drink and sat back, thinking about the new information. Megatron could practically _hear_ the gears in his brain module turning. 

Ever since he’d started writing, he’d forced Impactor to think about various situations differently, ask questions he wouldn’t have asked before. It often led to Impactor feeling frustrated and overwhelmed, but Megatron thought it was better that way. At least he wouldn’t be accepting everything blindly anymore. Not like he had trouble doing that when he would constantly get into fights with the other miners. 

“Ugh.” Turns out this was a situation Impactor didn’t want to question. He wrinkled his face and ordered another drink. “Why can’t you just enjoy things without asking anything? I _know_ you’re asking all your dumb questions.”

Megatron _tisked._ “You should _never_ accept any information without questioning it. You know that.” He shrugged. “Plus, it’s fun to think of possibilities.”

Impactor swiftly grabbed his third drink, taking a large gulp and resorting to ignoring Megatron again. That was fine, at least Megatron could think in peace now. 

* * *

In the end, Megatron couldn’t actually think without getting bothered. Impactor had done his best to leave him alone, and stepped in whenever other patrons started bothering him, but he got drunk enough and wandered off. Physically left alone, more patrons approached Megatron, some asking him for shanix, others trying to start small talk, some even trying to _offer things_ he had no interest in. He didn’t care about drugs, especially as a miner that could easily get in trouble with authorities for possessing them. He didn’t care about casual interfacing, never really understanding the appeal and not really wanting to participate. He had more important things to worry about.

He’d finally finished his (first) drink and decided to find Impactor. Well… more like make sure he was okay. He could see the drunk mech sitting by one of the round platform stage things. He couldn’t be less interested. 

“Impactor,” he called out as he walked towards his friend. The bot turned around almost sluggishly, unfocused optics landing on Megatron. It took a moment until Impactor smiled and waved at his friend.

“Megatron! Come sit next to me,” he said, patting the chair next to him. Megatron could’ve snickered as he walked in front of the chair and sat down, letting himself get comfortable. 

There were a few bots surrounding them, sitting on the other chairs provided, some opting to stand behind the crowd. Some even sitting at other stages but turned their attention. Whoever would perform on this specific platform was popular. All the more reason for Megatron to remain uninterested.

“What are you doing here?” He asked Impactor, leaning back in his chair. Might as well get as comfortable as possible if he was going to stay with his friend.

Impactor gestured to the pole specifically, and let the grin paint across his face. “I’m here to see the show!”

“I see that,”

“Y’know,” Impactor started, this time with a quieter voice. Megatron instinctively leaned in, knowing all too well the secrets he’s had to hide from his superiors at the mines. “I’ve been listening around to what the others have been saying, and I found out a bit about the librarian.”

The reason why Megatron had decided to stay this long? “Oh?”

“Yeah!” Clearly, Impactor was more excited about this than he’d let on while he was still sober. “He’s Iaconian, he’s really elegant or some slag like that, and he prefers _this_ platform.”

Megatron smirked, ready to tease Impactor for his decisions. “So you sat here on purpose?”

Impactor raised a knowing eyebrow. “For you, my good friend.”

That caught Megatron off guard. “…Really now.”

Impactor’s frame rattled as he burst into laughter. Megatron was glad the conversations around them were loud enough to drown out even his friend’s hearty laugh. “Come on! You were interested, right? I just made it easier for you!”

Megatron only rolled his optics, recovering quickly from the new information. “Thanks, Impactor. You’re very helpful.”

“I know.”

As their conversation stilled, Megatron looked around again. More bots had decided to crowd around this stage, most standing off to the side or pretending to be interested in other dancers. _Clearly,_ this performer was a favorite of the public. 

“…So is he going to come soon?” Megatron asked, suddenly feeling impatient. So many bots were around them, and it was beginning to make him feel cluttered. Claustrophobic even, like the mines…

“Look.”

Impactor pointed to somewhere behind the stage, where Megatron couldn’t quite see. The light pointed at the stage blinded him, but he could see a figure walking forward. Confidently. With a sort of power he hadn’t quite seen yet.

From the shadows, a gorgeously tall blue and red mech stepped onto the stage, letting the light engulf and enhance his frame in ways Megatron didn’t know were possible. His servos reached for the pole, gripped it ever so surely, and Megatron had only realized at that moment that Impactor had decided to get front row seats. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh hopefully chapters will be this long or longer :”) kick my ass if they’re shorter than 1.5k words. I _really_ wanna challenge myself to write more


	2. A Dance He Hasn’t Learned Yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'is the chapter where I had to raise the rating, but not for what you're thinking ;)

Maybe it had been the constant need to observe every little movement in order to make the best judgment. Maybe it had been the growing interest he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge up until now. Maybe it had been Impactor’s drunken excitement that was finally starting to rub onto him.

Whatever the reason, Megatron couldn’t turn his optics away from the sight before him.

Megatron knew every dancer was a _performer._ They all had their own ways of making the dances their own. He knew this was supposed to be sexy and should rile him up, along with the other patrons. That still didn’t prepare him for every single place the dancer’s servos touched and _caressed._

The blue and red mech grabbed the pole effortlessly, and, just as gracefully, his legs came up. They were long, and sure, and deliberate of the placing. His thighs squeezed and his servos let go, and Megatron found himself sitting on the edge of his seat.

He _knew_ that this was what he should’ve expected, he _knew_ this was what a pole dancer would do, but he couldn’t have prepared himself with how close he felt.

Too close.

The blue and red mech grabbed the pole again, and his legs fanned out, spreading out to really give the audience a view of his…

Megatron’s breathing hitched. When had his panel been _retracted?_

Being in the very front of the crowd, time seemed to have slowed down as he caught the clearest view of the blue and red mech’s valve. The cerulean biolights that lined the valve shone brightly, accentuating the painted silver and yellow highlights. He could’ve even sworn, had the mech not been surrounded by lights, that his valve _glistened._ As if it was…

He was overwhelmed. His interest had still been piqued, especially from the information Impactor had given him earlier, but with the show and the small distance… it was too much.

He snapped out of his train of thought when the mech’s long legs landed onto the platform, slowly crouching and spreading his knees. Megatron tried, tried _so hard,_ to look at anything _but_ the mech’s valve. He tried to examine – _admire_ – the mech’s frame, taking a note of his lean figure. His chassis was boxy with the windshields, and his shoulders were wide, but his arms were certain and strong, and his servos…

Megatron watched, completely entranced, as the mech let his servos glide down his chassis, played with the seams teasingly, down to his waist, curled his digits slightly, down to his hips, and inched _excruciatingly_ slow to his- his…

He shamelessly spread his puffy silver lips apart, and Megatron was now _certain_ there was lubricant collecting just beyond where he could see. Only now had he realized his grip on his chair bent the metal.

He was going to strangle Impactor after this.

The blue and red mech let his arms fall behind him to grab the pole, and he thrusted his hips forward, allowing the momentum to pull him back up. It embarrassed Megatron that it had just occurred to him that he hadn’t even taken a glance at the mech’s face.

There wasn’t much to comment. His face was covered by a mask up to just below his optics, and the shape of his head allowed him to hide them should he look down far enough. But he wasn’t looking _down._ The entire time, the red and blue mech had kept his piercing cerulean optics trained on _Megatron._

This was too much. Too fast.

“What d’ya think of that!” Impactor exclaimed, and Megatron had only just realized there was music blaring all around them. He’d really have to focus on Impactor in order to give him a response.

But he couldn’t. Everything within his frame contradicted what he wanted to do, and he felt stuck. Frozen in place as all he could do was _watch._ “I- I…”

Impactor snorted as he leaned closer to Megatron. “How would you say it in your poems? _Absolutely breathtaking!”_

“Y-yeah…” He couldn’t focus. Not on what he _wanted_ to focus on.

The red and blue mech circled the pole, walking with his hips until his legs were back up in the air again, hooking onto the pole as his torso seemed to detach and float there. He was so coordinated, so _confident_ in his moves. It was _intoxicating._

“Megatron?”

Without taking his optics off the dancer, Megatron muttered, “Primus…”

From his side, Impactor leaned back as he let out another one of his hearty laughs. “Hah! That shaken up?”

The music lowered just enough for an announcer to speak over it. Whatever they were saying wasn’t registering in Megatron’s head, his brain coming up with various _vivid_ scenarios that weren’t entirely fictional. Especially in a place like this.

He figured he should listen to the announcer. At least _try_ to. When he tuned in, they were announcing the dancer’s names.

“…and finally, the one and only Prime himself, Optimus Prime of Iacon!”

The crowd instantly clapped and cheered, and a million questions raced through Megatron’s head. This dancer couldn’t _possibly_ be a Prime, could he? Is he _really_ from Iacon? What is he doing _here_ of all places? What are his _goals?_

Megatron took a deep breath, watching attentively as Optimus swung his legs again, fanning them out and giving him – giving them _all_ – a nice view. “Impactor… I can’t do this.”

It took a moment for Impactor to process what Megatron had said. “What? You tryna ditch me already?”

“Yes- no, well…” He couldn’t take his optics off of Optimus, and he’d only just now _felt_ his fans whirring. The crowd and the music were too loud for anybody to hear his fans, but it still added onto the nervousness he felt. “I don’t know _what_ I’d been expecting, but- but _this…”_

Impactor nodded. He knew his friend. “…You overwhelmed?”

Megatron gulped. “…Yes.”

“Wanna go somewhere private? To cool down?”

“Desperately.”

Despite the many drinks Impactor could feel in his system, he still searched around, wondering where he could take Megatron. There had always been the option of taking him home, but only if he was _seriously_ bored out of his mind. Megatron looked _far_ from bored out of his mind, and Impactor wasn’t exactly in the right mind to be the one taking him home. They could go to another place, another nightclub or bar, but Impactor assumed Megatron would want to leave after getting out of this place. Then the fun would _really_ be over. Impactor clicked his teeth in annoyance, glancing back at Optimus as he smoothly – and _slowly_ – lifted himself off the ground as if it didn’t strain him at all.

Then an idea popped into his head.

Turning to Megatron fast enough that his friend _finally_ broke his trance, Impactor excitedly slurred, “Talk to him!”

Megatron blinked. “…What?”

“The rooms upstairs.” Impactor pointed to the ceiling, remembering what another patron had told him when he’d wandered off from the bar. “You can only get in them with one of the dancers. And they’re private. Silent.”

Megatron’s mind raced with scenarios he wasn’t entirely against, but definitely didn’t feel prepared for. “But that would mean…”

Impactor placed a serious and calm servo onto his friend’s shoulder. As serious as his drunken smirk could let him be. “Only whatever you’re comfortable with will happen.”

Megatron didn’t look entirely convinced. He nodded either way, and glanced back at Optimus, who had climbed the pole even higher. “…Uh huh.”

Impactor understood where Megatron’s hesitance came from. Couldn’t blame him, either. He squeezed his shoulder, and leaned back in his chair. _“_ And I’m only a comm away if you need me.”

“…Right.” Something in Megatron forced him to calm down, despite being _very_ riled up. He took a deep breath and pursed his lips. “Okay.”

Impactor raised an eyebrow. “Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll talk to him.”

“Really?” He didn’t actually think he’d convince Megatron of anything. Not while he was _this_ drunk.

_“Only_ to get away from here and not make you upset.”

“Heh.” Optimus had decided to come back down to the ground, landing with his legs spread. The lubricant was ready to drip from his valve. “Then have fun for me.”

Megatron couldn’t be bothered to stop himself from further bending his chair. “I’m going to strangle you.”

“You’re not the only one who’s influenced his best friend.”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, I’ll let you _admire_ his valve now.”

_“Impactor!”_

But the music had already faded, and the crowd had erupted into cheering and whistling. Optimus stood up, eyeing the crowd, but keeping an optic on Megatron. He didn’t know what he’d done to get the dancer’s attention besides staring the entire time he’d danced. And he kept staring as Optimus walked off the stage, panel still open, and lubricant _definitely_ dripping down his thigh now. He felt like his world had been turned upside down, and nothing enormous had even happened yet.

Yet. Why’d he think of _yet?_ He didn’t want to think of the future anymore.

The announcer said something, but it didn’t register as his optics trailed the dancer off the stage. He talked to a mech he didn’t recognize, and kept glancing back to the crowd. The lights made it hard to see past the stage, and the crowd’s cheering and whistling wasn’t letting up. The music was starting again, with a deeper bass this time, and Megatron suddenly asked himself how he would talk to Optimus. How could he ask to go to the rooms upstairs? How could he ask to go with Optimus? Why did he want to go with _only Optimus?_

His trail of questions didn’t find an end he realized the red and blue dancer was on the move. Instead, they switched topics. Where was Optimus going? Was there a possibility he would walk towards Megatron? What if someone else got to Optimus first? What if Optimus had _appointments?_ What if–

Megatron’s breathing hitched. He _never_ imagined it would.

What if Optimus stood in front of _him?_ What then?

* * *

The second floor was already quieter than the stage area. Megatron could _hear_ his fans now, which reminded him to turn them off manually before Optimus heard them too. It was embarrassing enough that they’d clicked on so high during the dance. He didn’t need to be embarrassed in front of Optimus, but he guessed he already was. He didn’t need anything _else_ to embarrass him.

The floor looked like a single hallway with various rooms on the sides, and a single, large tinted window at the very end. Each one had a number on it, and he wondered if the dancers were assigned rooms. As they walked further down the hall, he wondered how the rules worked here, what would happen if the rules were broken, if they had schedules and breaks like he did at the mines. He didn’t know why his mind went there, but it helped him relax in a way. Finding common ground before he even talked to Optimus yet.

Which made him think… Would he even be able to get a word in? Would what they’re _expected_ to do affect how they interact. Would he be able to make Optimus stop if he needed to?

Uncharacteristically, Megatron sized Optimus up and down. He’d picked up the habit from Impactor, who couldn’t be alone for more than a klik without picking a fight. Unless he was with good drinking buddies, which he looked like he was. He’d lose most of his energy once the adrenaline wore off anyway, and _that’s_ when Megatron could leave.

Optimus stopped in front of a door, and Megatron glanced at it. B-08. He quickly commed the room number to Impactor, just in case _anything_ happened. He felt better being safe.

Optimus let the door slide open as he turned to face Megatron. “Come in with me,” he said, and Megatron couldn’t believe that was _his voice._ It was so much deeper than he’d been expecting, and much huskier. He gulped and followed the dancer.

As he expected – though much nicer than he’d anticipated – a large double berth lay decorated in the middle of the room. There were cloths made of organic materials he’d _never_ know where they came from draped on top of it, and the windows were tinted to keep outside prying optics at bay. The lights were warm and dim, coating the entire room and their frames in a sexy red light he was still trying to wrap his mind around.

As soon as the door slid closed behind him, all the noise from the rest of the audience died completely. The sudden silence felt _deafening,_ and it riled him up even further. He had to manually override the code to his fans a second time.

“I watched you while I danced,” Optimus spoke up, and Megatron snapped his attention back to the performer. He gulped again.

“Really now?”

Optimus huffed gently, and Megatron couldn’t tell what kind of expression the dancer was making under his mask. Somehow, he didn’t want to know.

Optimus sauntered towards the double berth, taking long and slow strides all the way. “You’ve had an interesting reaction thus far. A new client, perhaps?”

Megatron found himself wishing he had something to fidget with. He felt awkward and out of place, but the way his frame heated up almost convinced him otherwise. He did his best to clear the static out of his voice module before speaking up, “Ah, don’t count on me becoming a usual.”

Optimus hummed at the information, and leaned against the berth. From the angle he stood, Megatron realized the other’s panel was open – whether it was _still_ open from earlier, or he’d opened it again for this specifically, Megatron refused to think about. In some ways, he didn’t _want_ to know the actual answer.

“And why’s that?” Optimus asked, something akin to playfulness unhidden in his optics. “Was the show not good enough?”

“I-it wasn’t that…” Megatron stammered out, and froze. What did _he_ mean by that? He’d been observing Optimus the entire time he performed, but… did he enjoy the dance? Did he enjoy watching Optimus show off his– his–

“Say,” Optimus started, cutting the miner’s train of thought. He didn’t relax knowing he’d simply think of it later. Optimus stood up straight, and Megatron hated that he noticed the arc in his back. The dancer sauntered over, tantalizingly slow, and Megatron sweared his spark wouldn’t he able to take this. “What’s your name?”

For a moment, the miner considered using a different name. He could _not_ use his pseudonym; he didn’t want to get identified _that_ way. Not yet.

In the end, he couldn’t think of something else fast enough, and decided his real name was common enough to leave him semi-anonymous. “M-Megatron…”

“Megatron, is it?” Optimus asked, his voice remaining low and planned. Megatron _felt_ the bass of his voice down in his panels, and had to override the code asking to open them. He _knew_ he had more self-control than Impactor.

“Uh…”

“And what do you want to do here?” Optimus stepped into Megatron’s personal space, and the miner didn’t automatically step out of the way. If his mask weren’t there, Megatron bet he would have felt Optimus breathing against his face. “Here, with me?”

Optimus placed two gentle digits under Megatron’s chin, making him tilt his head up. From this close, Megatron could study all the intricate seams barely visible underneath Optimus’s mask, and he wished that mask would retract and expose whatever facial features he hid underneath.

And then what Optimus asked fully registered in Megatron’s brain, and forced himself to remain still. His UI opened a message that his frame would overheat soon, and decided, with _much_ consideration, to allow his fans on in the lowest setting. “Oh, I… um…”

“Or, perhaps…” Optimus continued, not waiting for Megatron to finish stuttering. “…You’d like for me to take the lead?”

Megatron felt a servo appear just above his hip kibble, and nearly jumped out of his frame. “Maybe I could show you some tricks up close…” Optimus leaned his head in further, past Megatron’s peripheral vision, and he heard a gentle _swish_ of the other’s face mask retracting. “…Up close, and _personal…”_

He couldn’t keep up anymore, and every sensation became too much. He was overheating, Optimus was too close, _that servo was far too low for comfort,_ and a comm to Impactor automatically pulled up.

_No._ He wouldn’t call Impactor. Not this time.

“W-wait.” Shakily, Megatron let his own servos rest on top of Optimus’s, and gently pulled them away from his frame. “Hold on…”

Confused, Optimus stepped back, and Megatron could finally that Optimus did, in fact, have have a nose and lips. _Really_ nice lips.

“…Is something wrong?” Optimus asked, the mischievousness from early entirely gone, replaced with concern.

“N-not particularly,” Megatron said, a little too quickly. He let go of Optimus’s servos and took a step back himself. _Now_ he felt like he could breathe.

He didn’t want to lie about why he had freaked out, but Optimus was still a stranger. Focusing on a smaller part of why his mood dropped felt better. And less like lying. “I, uh, have never done… anything like this before…”

Optimus searched his optics, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “…You’ve never interfaced with anyone?”

The blunt rewording stung, but Megatron couldn’t deny it. He lowered his head, but kept his gaze on the dancer. “…No.”

“Oh.”

“A-and it’s not that I don’t feel comfortable, or… or whatever,” Megatron started defending, but quickly gave up. He didn’t need to explain himself to a sex worker why he didn’t want to have sex. That was weird. He sighed. “Today’s just been… very different?”

“Did a friend bring you here?” Optimus asked, genuinely curious. He backed away from Megatron, giving him even more space now, and Megatron greatly appreciated it.

“…Yeah, he did.”

Optimus squinted, trying to recall the face. “The mech next to you?”

“Impactor,” Megatron nodded. “Yeah.”

“Interesting.”

Megatron couldn’t help but snort, feeling his mood lighten up a little. “So I would assume.”

“Well,” Optimus started again, and, for the first time all night, he looked awkward as he swung his arms back and forth, unsure what to do with them. “I apologize if my advancements unnerved you. In a setting like this…”

“No, it’s okay, I completely get it.” Megatron raised his servos defensively. “It’s something a client would actually expect.”

Optimus hummed and nodded. “So, am I to believe you’re not _trying_ to be a client?”

The question caught Megatron off-guard. He didn’t really know how he wanted to answer. He hadn’t allowed himself to think far into the future besides strangling Impactor.

He blinked. “…Maybe not now.”

The way Optimus’s optics squinted seemed to signify a smile. Megatron hoped he was reading the dancer right.

“So there’s a possibility that you _will_ be a client in the future?”

The tone in his voice sent a shiver down Megatron’s spine. He knew the other mech was trying to tease, maybe even _flirt,_ but he let himself have fun this one time.

He allowed the corners of his own mouth to turn upwards. “Don’t get your hopes up. I want to focus on the present for now.”

“Oh?” Optimus leaned in subtly. It looked like his interest had been piqued. “And what does Megatron in the present want?”

Megatron huffed. “To talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so awkward to write FDKDJD BUT THAT WAS THE INTENDED EFFECT


	3. An Unusual Guest. Who was He?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeyyy, long time no update! kinda embarrassing i left this after chapter 2... oops?
> 
> uhh i don't have an excuse for that. mental health just be like that, i guess. can't really decide when my adhd will hyperfocus on a fic or not
> 
> ANWAY onto this update!! it's shorter than the last 2, but it's still an update, right? ^^"
> 
> also Hot Rod uses neopronouns!! felt like projecting onto my fav character so ;)  
> some others will have different pronouns too, i'll make sure to note that when it comes up!!

Orion walked down the stairs, glancing over the crowd that had been there earlier. Since he left with his strange client, the crowd had dispersed, either going back to the bar to order more engex, sat around to watch another dancer perform, or simply left. The night became quieter, and he let himself soak in the lack of attention.

He walked behind the platforms, behind the performers that were still dancing, into the area he and the rest dubbed the back of the stage. It was near the second exit, where most bots went when they wanted to deal drugs. Orion wasn’t in charge of turning in any bot he caught, just as it wasn’t his responsibility to make them stop dealing. It didn’t mean he wished the same bots he saw hadn’t turned to selling and buying drugs in order to survive.

He sighed when his cerulean optics met another mech’s golden outside a window, which paled when they realized who he was. Or, more likely, realized what he _did_ in this particular building. They panicked and grabbed everything they could, somehow being mindful of the sharps they had brought, and ran off. 

Orion hated seeing bots like this. He didn’t really know what he could do to help in his position.

He didn’t let himself dwell on it for much longer when he turned back and watched his fellow dancers. He was proud of them all for being able to distinguish themselves and their performances, despite learning all the moves together. Hot Rod had this energetic flare and confidence that the others couldn't replicate; Jazz was smooth and graceful, but quick to move away when someone became too touchy. Pit, even Drift, their newest dancer, was picking up techniques from all of them and slowly making them his own. It was fascinating to be able to see just how differently they moved, and what _exactly_ they did in order to make that distinction.

He didn’t let it delude him when it came to their audience, however. He didn’t think many of them liked to be as perceptive as him. Which was fine, since they didn’t need to understand _why_ they liked a certain mech’s style more than the other. As long as they received the services they wanted, and _paid,_ it was fine. 

He watched Hot Rod finish up xyr act, ending with a flashy sideways split, likely to show off xyr high flexibility. Orion had to commend Hot Rod for that, as it was definitely an attractive trait of xyrs.

Xe had only gotten so good because of Drift, Orion mused. The new mech brought a lot of unused skills with him, and, in exchange for being taught how to perform, he bestowed what he already knew to the rest. Hot Rod had been particularly receptive, trying harder than the rest, and picking up a lot of little techniques quicker. It was interesting to see how far xe’d come, being able to confidently show off xyr frame with what xe had learned. 

Orion caught Jazz sauntering up to him, finished with his dance and servos on his hip kibble. His face carried a smile of a thousand words. He didn’t wait until he stopped walking to ask everyone’s favorite question: “How was he?”

The answer Orion had conditioned himself to say couldn’t possibly fit in this situation. He huffed in amusement and shook his head. “Where do I even _begin?”_

“Wow.” If he had optics under his visor, Orion mused Jazz would be raising his eyebrows to match his widening grin. _“That_ good?”

“He’s not what you’re thinking,” Orion quickly added. He looked around the bar, searching for the weathered gray paint and caution tape adorning his strange client. Truth be told, a lot of the clients this particular nightclub received were also from the miner caste, but that didn’t deter the dancer from searching anyway. He guessed Megatron would’ve left by then since he didn’t seem like the type to even _come_ to a nightclub on his own volition. 

Jazz’s smirk, meanwhile, felt crooked. “What do you mean by that, boss?”

Orion rolled his optics. “I thought I’d told you, you don’t need to call me that anymore. Or ever.” Jazz shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as Orion sighed and continued, “He was… _very_ different. He didn't actually want to interface with me.”

Jazz clicked his glossa as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight. “Not his type?”

“I can’t be too sure about that. He didn’t look like he even wanted to _be_ here once we started talking.”

Jazz was visibly taken aback. “Y’all were _talking? Exclusively?”_

Orion couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped him. “I’m a little surprised myself too. I was ready to let him leave if he wanted, but he kept telling me he wanted to stay.”

“Huh.”

“Right? He was strange.”

“Yeah. Guess I’m just surprised you…” Jazz paused, looking for the right word. “…let him?”

“What, talk with me? I wasn’t going to just push him back to the sex-filled _den_ that we run!” Orion dramatically gestured to the platforms, currently being occupied by Drift and a mech he hadn’t met yet. They were both accentuating their modesty panels, though Orion was proud to say Drift had more grace. “It was obvious he didn’t want to be here, so I was trying to make his time worthwhile.”

“Oh _please.”_ Jazz uncrossed his arms and beckoned Orion to follow him. He led them to their usual spot at the bar, far from the platforms and towards a corner.

As they sat down and got comfortable, Jazz looked back up at Orion, a glint of curiosity lighting his visor. “So, what _did_ y’all talk about anyway?”

Orion broke eye contact as he ordered a drink. “You’ll laugh.”

Jazz simply nodded at the bartender and leaned towards Orion. “Try me.”

“Alright.” Orion took a deep breath, stalling until his drink arrived. He took a quick sip before he said, “We started with small talk so I could try and understand where he was coming from, found out he didn’t want to interface, and I’m not entirely sure how we got to the topic, but we talked about poetry and literary analysis.”

 _“Poetry?”_ True to his word, Jazz didn’t laugh, but his suddenly restless frame spoke louder. Outwardly, Jazz’s smirk warped. “Are you sure you had a miner in there?”

Orion barely kept a groan down, and instead rolled his optics. “Knock it off, miner caste folk can read and write too.”

“I know,” Jazz said a little too quickly, and raised his servos. “I know, just… _poetry?”_ He took a generous swig from the drink he hadn’t touched and studied it. “That’s the _last_ thing I expected to hear.”

“Me too, I guess.” Orion looked down at his own drink that he was savoring. A silly grin threatened to show itself, and it was at times like these where he wished his friend didn’t know how to read him so well; he wanted more than anything to hide his face behind his mask and not be questioned for it. “I won’t lie,” he continued. “It wasn’t a terrible time. We ended up briefly touching on some poetry we’d both read before.” 

Jazz slumped forward, tilting his cup towards himself to see if he had anything left. He didn’t. “Your poetry talk is gonna confuse me,” he groaned, pouting that he couldn’t distract himself with his drink. “Can we wait ‘til someone who can translate what you say shows up?”

“C’mon, Jazz, you’re a songwriter, no? You’ve got creativity.”

Jazz shook his head. “I don’t write _lyrics,_ Orion. I write the composition. I play instruments. That’s _way_ different than saying pretty words with a double meaning.”

“Not every poem has a double meaning.”

Jazz tilted his head towards Orion. “Sure.”

“What are you guys talking about?”

Looking just past Orion, Jazz realized a new, smaller mech had sat close enough to Orion to invade his personal bubble. It didn’t worry either of them, as the voice was familiar, and Jazz couldn’t possibly mistake that spoiler and tacky flame decal for anyone else.

“Hot Rod,” Orion greeted with a gentle smile. Jazz leaned forward so he could get a better look at the younger mech.

“Hey, pal!” He quickly waved the bartender back over so he could get a refill, along with ordering for Hot Rod. “We’re just talking about Orion’s weird client.”

“The quiet one from the miner caste?” Hot Rod asked. It seemed like xe had been paying more attention than xe let on.

Jazz snickered. “Is that what we’re gonna call him?”

Orion quickly shot him a serious look, and Jazz shrunk in on himself. “No, we’re not. He deserves to be called by his name.”

Hot Rod poked xyr head around Orion. _“We_ don’t get called by our names.”

Orion simply raised an eyebrow. “That’s a choice we’ve made on our own. He hasn’t.”

Hot Rod hummed, accepting the answer. “So… what’s his name?”

“Megatron.”

“Ooh, huh.” Hot Rod repeated the name under xyr breath, almost as if tasting the name. “Kinda fits him.”

“Now that you mention it,” Jazz said, rubbing his lower lip in thought. “Yeah, it does.”

“I’m assuming neither of you have met him before?” Optimus asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

Hot Rod shook xyr head. “Nope.”

“No. First time I saw him was with the yellow and purple guy.” Jazz smirked at the thought of the other miner. Orion had an idea why he did. “I’ve seen _him_ before. Guess they’re friends?”

Orion shrugged. “I guess so.”

The silence shared between them was comforting, and they all watched Drift finishing up his dance. A small crowd of mechs whistled and cheered as he wrapped it up, and Orion knew he wasn’t the only one swelling with pride at the sight. 

Hot Rod hummed quietly, drawing Jazz and Orion’s attention. “…Do you think we’ll ever see him again?” Xe asked.

Orion thought quietly to himself. “Who knows? He wasn’t very fond of this place. Maybe his friend will drag him back here.” He snickered at the possibility. It wasn’t farfetched, considering today. “Time will tell, I suppose.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far! Updates are irregular, but there’s an outline I swear!


End file.
